


Serendipity

by grappled



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bering & Wells Holiday Gift Exchange, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9055243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grappled/pseuds/grappled
Summary: My Holiday Gift Exchange for @Mfangeleeta.A simple tale of a meeting one snowy night.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hermitstull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermitstull/gifts).



It could be a scene from a b-movie. Snow heavy sky looms overhead and thick flakes are beginning to drift more rapidly against Helena’s car, the wipers of which shoot rapid fire across the windscreen. She can barely see, even slowed to well within the speed limit, careful hands gripping the steering wheel. Yet, she spies a figure at the roadside up ahead, 'Whom _ever_ stops for hitchhikers?' she ponders. Burly truckers and naive groups of friends perhaps, looking for a tale to tell. As the car nears, this particular crazy individual sticks out a hopeful thumb, and a piece of card bears the smudged, felt-penned name of Helena’s own destination. 

She's had a god-awful day and honestly, picking up a stranger in the dark isn't something you would expect to increase the happy quotient. This is a lone female wearing a bright green waterproof, with a huge backpack leaning against her long legs and shoulder length hair plastered to her head. As Helena drives grimly past, the thumb drops forlornly, switches direction and resolutely pushes up spectacles that have slid to the end of a very red nose. It's owner is so clearly resigned to her fate this time, but ready and willing to try again when the next car passes; Helena sighs dramatically while glancing in the rearview mirror. 

She pushes her foot gently to the brake and brings the car to a halt. Before she has the gear in reverse, here is a tapping on the window, and a vision of bedraggled, wet, _happiness_ peers through the snow blurred glass. Helena lowers the window to be assaulted by a gust of freezing air.and American accented gratitude.

"Oh my god, thank you, thank you so much!" 

"Your decidedly soggy sign, it does say Oxford...?" 

The hitcher produces her sign in affirmation, peering over the top of it’s ragged cardboard edge, spectacles steaming up before she even gets in the car. It's rather endearing, and Helena finds she doesn't yet regret stopping, so releases the lock and gestures behind her. 

"Pop your bag in the back and hop in then," she says with a wink "before I change my mind."

Five minutes, and a few adjustments later - including a frantic 'sorry' when Myka, for that is her name, almost smacks Helena in the face whilst shrugging her coat off - Helena wants to thank the little devil or angel which possessed her to stop.. 

"You’re the last ride, I'm finally sticking to one place," Myka sighs contentedly, settled and polishing her spectacles with the edge of a blue fleece. 

"Well I am glad to hear it.” Helena pauses, "Is it entirely safe, hitching lifts alone?"

There’s a grunt of acknowledgement from the passenger seat.

"Sure, I worried, but I haven't travelled alone all the time...I promised myself an adventure of sorts, so..."

Helena hums, concentrating on the road ahead. She admires the sentiment, having travelled a little when she was a lot younger than Myka, encouraged by her father’s fanciful tales of European city life.

"So. Here you are." She says.

"Yeah," Myka's voice seems wistful and as she pushes those specs up once more, she turns slightly, "...and unless you turn out to be a serial killer, I've come out unscathed."

Helena flashes a wicked grin, feeling an appraising gaze, "I may yet be!”

Myka pointedly glances into the darkness behind their seats.

"I dunno - not sure a serial killer would be travelling with a grumpy cat in a basket...”

Helena laughs, and defends her silent passenger, "Dickens has had almost as bad a day as myself, so he is allowed." 

"Are you a little grumpy too then, if your day was worse than his?"

"Are _you_ happy in this warm, dry, car, being taken to your final destination?" Helena snarks, not without humour.

Myka clamps her mouth shut, sucks her lips in then slowly, slowly, they break back out into a smile and she laughs, and Helena laughs with her.

“Honestly, Myka. I wouldn’t usually stop, but perhaps after this day I thought it couldn't get worse."

"Well, thank you for stopping, Helena. I'm sorry you've had a crappy day," she tugs at her fleece, "and this warm dry car is very preferable to being turned into a living snowman." 

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, and Helena is thankful that the snowflakes are lessening in intensity. She likes the snow, smiling at memories of vigorous snowball fights with her elder brother and their friends. She never was one to give in, and the weather will not beat her this evening. 

Myka eventually turns to look at the dozing cat in the basket. 

"Sooo...Dickens?" she says with enthusiasm.

"Yes I believe I said Dickens" Helena chances a sidelong glance and is met with an amused, lopsided smile.

Helena knew she wouldn't let it go, Myka strikes her as the type to be intensely curious about anything and everything. 

"My father named him, and I have inherited the ungrateful ball of fur," she concedes with a sigh.

"Oh..." 

"My father has had to go into permanent care. Today I handed over the keys for the family home to an estate agent." 

She doesn't know why she reveals this, a simpler, less weighted explanation would have sufficed.

"Oh...I'm sorry for prying" Myka says, taking her specs off and starting to clean them once more in what is clearly a nervous tell.

"You weren't prying," Helena says softly. "Dickens here is a rather pugnacious independent sort. Though I am not particularly a lover of cats, I'm sure we'll come to an understanding."

Myka swipes at a drip of water that has started to trickle from her hairline, "It's a good name. One of my favourite authors."

Helena chuckles, "One of my father's too, he would read Oliver Twist to me, as a rebellious 8 year old Wells. I'm still not sure if it was to serve as a warning or an encouragement."

Myka laughs, "H.G.Wells" she says, half under her breath.

Helena gives her an amused look, "Pardon?"

"My father would read H.G.Wells," and Myka says in puzzlement, “urm, are you ok?”

"Yes, sorry" Helena holds her left hand out, palm up. "I didn't introduce myself properly. Helena G. Wells, great, great, granddaughter of Herbert George Wells."

Myka's hazel eyes go comically wide, "You're kidding me?!" 

"I assure you, I am not" Helena adopts her best pout and elicits a wholehearted laugh from Myka. 

She spots a roadsign and makes a quick decision. 

"Before you bombard me with questions, as I sense you might, let's stop at the services. I think you need to get out of those wet clothes - we've a couple of hours to go, yet."

Myka nods gratefully, pulling at the neck of her jumper, "Thanks, that would be great."

Thirty minutes later they are back in the car. Myka, now in dry clothes, sips a coffee while leaning over to treat Dickens to an ear rub. 

"He doesn't normally take to strangers, you should be honoured," Helena observes.

"The honour is all mine," Myka grins, "I managed to catch a ride with a Dickens _and_ a Wells..."

She really has a beautiful expressive smile. Helena feels her cheeks warm and her voice catches, "So, what brings you to Oxford, then, Myka?" she says, "It's a long way from...?"

"Colorado! I'm here to study, for a Doctorate."

"Is that so? Do I need to guess your area of expertise?"

"Possibly not" Myka smirks, "though you may find I wish to see if you, Helena G. Wells, have any familial contacts I can tap into."

"Cheeky,” she teases, and taps her nose conspiratorially. “I may be able to do better than that. If you are good." 

"Ok, playing it cool, I see" Myka turns to the cat, "Mr Dickens, we'll wear her down together...deal?" 

Incredibly, he meows through a yawn, and Myka deadpans, "I have an ally, you’re doomed."

 

Much later, Helena parks up at the address Myka had given her. Her passenger is in fact asleep, head lolled against a sweater she has rolled up against the window, curls falling across her face, spectacles now held loosely in her palm. Something in Helena unfurls. For the first time In the past 24hrs, in the past few months really, she feels some of the tension in her body and mind ease. 

Loathe to disturb the sleeping figure, Helena nudges her arm gently.

"Myka, Myka, we’re here,” she whispers.

Myka stirs, shivers in the usual post sleep shock to the system, her eyes sleepily regarding Helena who turns further into her gaze. 

“A warm house awaits-,” 

“Oh, oh!” Myka shoots up in her seat, “I'm sorry for falling asleep on you!” 

Her spectacles fly into the footwell, she dips down quickly to grab them and- clunk, hits her forehead on the dashboard. Helena stifles a laugh, because in a short time she already knows - this is typical Myka. 

Myka rubs her head and rolls her eyes, cheeks pink, and huffs with nervous laughter, “Wow, good final impression to make!” 

Helena chuckles, “Come on, let's get you into your...friend?”

“Friends, yes,” Myka smiles, pauses, then starts to pull her sweater back on while Helena winces at her own lack of subtlety. 

She busies herself retrieving a little something from the boot of the car, spying Myka giving Dickens a farewell tickle. The pavement here has just a thin coating of snow, but she gingerly steps around to where her passenger now stands, huge backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Thank you so much, Helena,” she says, eyes now clear under the street light above. 

Helena truly doesn't wish to say goodbye, and pulls a book from behind her back, handing it to Myka who peers inquisitively. 

“It may seem a little self promoting, but-”

“Helena! It's you,” Myka’s long fingers thumb through the pages, “you _are_ a dark horse.”

“Yes, well” Helena clears her throat, thrown again in the face of this woman's easy manner, “it was published only last week.”

Myka smiles brightly when stopping at a page just inside the cover, “‘To Myka, thank you for making a lonely journey much less so, Helena.’”

She looks up and Helena instinctively reaches up, not thinking at all, “Oh, you have a little bump forming…” 

Her fingers lightly brush Myka’s skin before pulling back suddenly. Myka who remains very still, frozen, if Helena didn't know better. Then she blinks, and wiggles the paperback.

“You know, I may have questions about this book of yours,” her eyebrow raises in question, and Helena feels that unfurling once more.

Emboldened, she pulls the pen she’d hidden in her coat pocket, and takes the book back. Giving her private number to a stranger is not something she generally does, but in this case, her gut is screaming at her to do so.

She hands the book back. 

“Use wisely, like the bat phone,” she warns in jest, and Myka breathes out a laugh. 

“Oh, I will.” 

This Myka is more than endearing, confident, it seems in the knowledge of a certain something hanging between them. Helena likes it because she, it seems, is now the nervous one. She shivers suddenly, hands cold, neck bare.

So she bites the billet, and rubs her hands together, “Right, I should get going, I'll wait for you to get inside,” 

Myka readjusts her load, “thank you again,” she tilts her head ever so slightly, “I'll maybe speak to you soon. Bye Helena.”

With that, she turns, and Helena stutters out a quick, “Bye” before Myka throws her a quick grin over her shoulder. 

Back in the car, Helena laughs to herself, thinking about timing and serendipity, two things that have eluded her quite frequently in her lifetime. Maybe her luck is turning. 

She reconnects her phone to the hands free, and calls ahead to her brother who suspiciously mentions the cheeriness in her tone. When she hangs up, an unknown number pops up on screen almost immediately and she answers without thinking.

“Hello?” 

“Hey. I was just checking you didn't give the crazy hitchhiker lady your real number…”

Helena laughs out loud.


End file.
